


Thorns

by lynnieminnie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnieminnie/pseuds/lynnieminnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This might be a little cliche, but my absolute favorite flower is a rose. There's just something about the fragrance of a fresh rose that makes my heart melt. Its bright red petals are velvety and smooth, and yet the thorns that grow on its stem threaten to prick your finger. It's quite ironic, how something so delicate and beautiful can hurt you. One wrong move when you go to pick one, and you end up bleeding.<br/>Roses, I've found, are very much like people. Few have more thorns than others, attempting to keep you from getting to close. Some people are like the roses you can buy at the grocers- void of thorns, but the scent isn't nearly as compelling as a fresh one. It's clearly lacking in specific aspects because you're removing a vital part of the flower itself.<br/>As you can tell, I'm very fond of roses. Which is why when I started noticing that some of my precious flowers were missing- I had to find the culprit. What I found, or should I say who I found, changed my life in ways I most certainly didn't expect. This is a story about the most beautiful person I've ever known, even though he was covered in thorns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prologue but you should still read it :)

_ All stories have a definite beginning. These first few words are proof of this. The end of stories however, are always debated; whether it’d be the end of a life or the ‘happily ever after’ from a fairytale. Mankind seeks answers to questions we’ll frankly never be able to answer. Someone can sit here and tell me the chemical reactions that occur if I happen to fall in love, but how does that equate to the butterflies making me queasy, or how a simple touch can make me feel electrified? You can tell me that the end of my life will be the end of my consciousness and that no God will guide me to a cloud kingdom where I will live out eternity ‘happily ever after’. Or, you could tell me that I will be relocated, in a sense. I will be reborn into another creature and my soul will live on forever, simply finding a new being if my current one happens to die. _

_ I’m not here to debate the existence of any deity known to man or have religious squabbles. In fact, I don’t want to be here at all. I could care less about what awaits me after my death, I just want to end the pain. Yes, I know that’s fucking selfish, but does it seem like I could give a shit? No? You’re completely right. The fact that I have to write in this godforsaken journal is making me even more pissed off. It’s just a burden that I’m forced to drag around with me. But, for the sake of getting better, I guess I’m just going to have to deal with it, huh? _

_ I don’t know what to even put in this shitty thing. Do they really expect me to pour out my heart when I’m feeling sorry for myself? Because I know I’m not. I’ll humor them and write in this when I feel utterly pitiful or just need an excuse to look busy, but come ON. I’m not some sappy fuck that is going to talk to this goddamn diary like it’s a person.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's short, but it's only the beginning (literally!). Thanks for reading! Now onto the ACTUAL first chapter!


	2. Fresh Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco Bodt finds some of his treasured roses missing and there's fresh blood at the scene of the crime. Now all he has to do is set bait and wait for the thief to show up, but it isn't who he'd expect.

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night

Although we both lie close together we feel miles apart inside

Was it something I said or something I did?

Did my words not come out right?

Though I tried not to hurt you

Though I tried

But I guess that's why they say

Every rose has its thorn

Just like every night has its dawn

Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song

Every rose has its thorn

-Every Rose Has Its Thorns by Poison-

 

* * *

 

 

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't work in a flower shop or sell roses for a living. I actually work at my local grocery store as a cashier. Very interesting, I know. The garden I have is more or less a hobby, but there's just something so refreshing about having your own gorgeous flowers that you get to take care of. I go out every day to take care of them, whether they need weeded or a drink of water.

Today is just another typical day. I pull up into my driveway after finishing work, parking my silver (and somewhat rusted) '04 Honda Accord. Clambering out of the car, I head over to my garden to check how everything's going. The drought in Trost has been hard on them and I need to water them more often than I would typically. As I approach, I'm welcomed by the sweet aroma of pure white lilies, soft yellow daisies, pastel pink peonies, and- of course- my cherished red roses. The slight buzz that the bees swirling around me is music to my ears. I follow one particular bee over to my roses, just making sure everything is up to par.

I notice that my clippers aren't where I left them, and when I go to pick them up, I notice fresh blood. Turning my head to the roses, I realize that it doesn't look as full as it did yesterday. I walk to to rose bush, the clippers still in my hand, and a slight pout on my faces. I can definitely tell where someone cut off my flowers, thorns thrown on the ground and glucose seeping from the stems.

I'm not necessarily angry, because they're just flowers. I just wish the person that took them would've asked. Trying to hold back my scowl, I plan to catching the rose thief. I could have only missed them by a few minutes. If I would have left on time today, rather than help Petra with the incoming delivery truck, I could've intercepted whoever took my flowers. I shrug to myself and decide to leave work a few minutes early for the next few days in case they come back and scare them out of taking anything from my garden.

 

* * *

 

My garden is located on the side of my house right under my bedroom window, the bright colors of the petals reflecting the yellow sunlight. I sat there, uneasy and irritated, ready for the flower burglar to take the bait. An old Mustang, probably a '75, rolled up to my house, creaking to a halt. The driver hopped out of his car and snuck around the front end of his pale blue Ford, heading towards my garden. I assume this was my cue, and I rush out of my unkempt bedroom, barely avoiding the pile of clothes outside my empty hamper and down the steps towards the perpetrator. I burst out of my front door with a huff, standing on my porch, feeling the grain of the wood under my feet. I whipped my head to the side, my dark brown bangs flying in front of my eyes. I brushed the hair away, clearing my vision and I find a guy about my age. (Which is surprising to me for some reason.) His tawny eyes stared at me, wide and unblinking. His 'o' shaped mouth gaped open as he stood, stunned. He was tall, about my height, but maybe an inch or two shorter from what I can tell. I'm still standing on the porch, so I walked down the creaking steps towards him and his wiry frame stiffened. His jaw shut with a clamp of his teeth. As I opened my mouth to speak, he began stammering, wringing his hands guiltily.

"I-I just, uh.. wanted to a-admire the garden," he spoke with a squeak. His brow furrowed as he glared angrily at the ground. Even I have to admit that pitiful squeak was far from manly. One of his hands reached up to the nape of his neck and scratched his dark undercut. The messy strands of blonde hair on the top of his head were longer and fell over his forehead, slightly hiding his thin eyebrows. It seems like he was in a rush today. His button-up was wrinkled and the sleeves were sloppy rolled up. The white t-shirt underneath displayed his collar bones and the bottom seems were tucked into his black skinny jeans. Even the laces on the guy's canvas shoes were undone. His oval-shaped face contorted as he watched me examine his disheveled appearance and he sighed heavily. Dropping his hand and letting his shoulders slump, he put on a sad grin.

"Am I under arrest for flower theft?" He bit his bottom lip nervously, holding back a smirk and my heart fluttered at that. The smell of the flowers drifted on the slight breeze through his hair and to me. I inhaled, my breath uneven. The typical scent of roses along with a faint trace of... chocolate? I shut my eyes, enjoying the sweet cologne that the guy in front of me was wearing. I snapped back to reality when I heard his shift his weight on his feet and stepped back onto one of Mya's plastic shovel. He jumped away from the now broken toy, nervousness and uncertain laced through his every moment.

"Damn it, I-I'm sorry.. I didn't-"

"It's alright. My sister has another just like it." I smiled gently as the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to settle. He looked at me expectantly as he waited for me to speak again. It's not like I'm going to call the cops for him taking a few roses. He seemed pretty dolled up for a thief, and I realized he probably planned on giving the flowers to a girlfriend or something. Stealing flowers twice in one week though? I narrowed my eyes and turned to my garden. Walking past him, I headed toward my roses and snipped off three roses. The fragrance of the flowers grew stronger and I heard him inhale, as if he was about to speak. But he just exhaled after a few moments of holding his breath. Spinning on my heel back toward him, I stuck the roses out to him. Staring at my hand and the flowers briefly, he squinted then grabbed the stems where the thorns were sparse.

"Take me to her," I smiled. His jaw dropped and I could practically see the sweat already forming. The dull pink on his cheeks bloomed into a deeper red as he went back to splutter his words. I didn’t notice how sickly pale he looked before, but he’s as white as a ghost for some reason.

"W-who?" He spoke softly and his eyes reminded me of a deer in headlights. He looked almost scared and I wasn't quite sure why.

"Whoever these roses are for." He took his free hand and ran it through his hair, making it slick back slightly. He pinched the bridge of his slender nose between his thumb and index finger, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I-it's really... not what you think." I shrugged, keeping my smile steady but persistent.

"I'm letting you take my favorite flowers, so I at least get to see who they're going to." The stranger hung his head in defeat and groaned. He grumbled as he walked back to his car, saying something about freckles. My hand quickly ran along my cheeks self-consciously. When I asked him to repeat what he said, but all I got was more pathetic mumbling. Walking next to him, I've realized that he's about two inches shorter than me, which isn't that huge of a difference. I look him over, taking to notice how his shirt hangs off loosely. He's very bony compared to me. Not that I'm fat, I just haven't had time to go to the gym or anything. His skinniness was almost unhealthy, though. I caught myself wondering if he was alright.

"What's your name," I asked with a slight tilt of my head as we simultaneously open the doors to his vehicle. He met my eyes before ducking under the hood, looking at me through the opened car, and his blush crept back on his face.

"I'm Jean." He swallowed thickly, and adjusted his stance; leaning on his arm that was resting on the hood.

"What about you, freckles?" I let out a breathy laugh, finding amusement in the fact I already had a nickname. My eyes drifted to the ground momentarily before finding Jean's again.

"My name is Marco." Jean nodded curtly then ducked his head into the car and sat in his leather seat; and I followed suit. We both closed our doors and he looked at me displaying a grimace.

"Look," he sighed, "I'm not sure what you're expecting, but -"

"I just wanna if she's pretty enough to warrant flower theft." I grinned widely. He flashed me an odd look, so I revised my sentence.

"O-oh, sorry. I-I mean _they._ " (Boys can be pretty, right?) My words caught on one another, but Jean still understood what I said and he shook his head violently.

"N-No, no. You were right. She." I sighed and ran my hair through my hair, regretting the fact that I _asked to meet a complete stranger's girlfriend._ Both of us shifted in our seats nervously, and I could tell Jean was hesitant to start his car. Maybe I can salvage some part of the absolute wreck.

"I-I mean, you don't _have_ to take me to meet her. I just wanted to see if she's worthy of my prized roses.. uh, but I can tell I kind of embarrassed the both of us, s-so-" Jean stopped me mid-sentence, his face grim and reluctant.

"It's fine. I'll take you to her. B-but she doesn't live where you'd expect..." I cocked my head, and he spoke up again.

"N-nevermind, you'll see when we get there." With a twist of the key in the ignition, his car came to life and we headed off.

 

* * *

 

 

We were driving for about five minutes in awkward silence before he flipped on the radio for white noise.

"What's her name?" I thought out loud. He cleared his throat before speaking, but despite that, his attempted monotonous voice cracked with an emotion that I couldn’t identify.

“Mikasa.” I half expected Jean to add details to humor my curious self, but it seemed like he didn’t want to even acknowledge her. Were they broken up? That would make a lot of sense. He’s probably trying to win her back from someone. I ran through faces of people that I knew who were close to my age. There’s Reiner and Bertyl, but they’re dating each other and I don’t think either of them are bi. Levi is much too old to date someone my age. Okay, it’s about a decade apart but he and Petra are a thing. Or so I thought. Co-workers aren’t allowed to date at Trost’s Local Grocery but I’ve caught them kissing a few times in the storage room. Now that I really think about it, I don’t really know a lot of people my age. But either way, poor Jean. He has really taken it hard. 

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye because the last thing I want to do is stare. One, because it’s rude. Two, I don’t want to freak him out or make him feel any more self-conscious than he already does. Although my peripheral vision absolutely sucks, I notice that his cheeks are a lot more sunken in than I originally thought. He is definitely NOT in good shape. 

“Can I help you, freckles?” He snapped, turning to glare at me for a brief moment before focusing back on the road. My eyes widen and I snap my attention to the familiar road ahead. I notice that we’re still on Jinae street and there aren’t any more houses out here. We passed all the neighborhoods already and the only other thing that’s further down this road is the church my father preaches at.  Well, unless he turns right up ahead to go to Sina Avenue.

But he keeps driving. Eventually, we do reach the church and he pulls into the practically deserted parking lot. The only cars besides us are there for volunteering. Mikasa must volunteer at my church. I smiled to myself as Jean parked the car on the side of the Church where the cemetery is. 

“The west doors must be the only ones open,” I think to myself. Except Jean takes the roses from his lap not caring to watch the thorns, gets out of the car, and walks with his shoulder slumped toward the cemetery. There’s a massive lump in my throat and my heart feel like it literally falls into my stomach as I follow suit. He opens the wrought iron gate and leaves it open behind him. I close the squeaky gate carefully and turn to catch up with him. He stops at a gravestone that I don’t remember being there. The grass under him still has not completely grown back and it’s bare in a few places. He kneels and places the roses on the grave next to the headstone. 

“Here lies Mikasa Ackerman, beloved daughter and loved sister,” I read. Jean stands up slowly, his head hung with sorrow. I went to speak but Jean beat me to it.   
“I-” I started.   
“I killed her.” Jean finished.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Please make suggestions and leave constructive criticism below :)


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